


Grin and Bear It

by mothmanaintshit



Series: Strange Magic [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bartender Marianne, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Minor Pairing - Sunny/Dawn, Professor Bog, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmanaintshit/pseuds/mothmanaintshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bog is a Professor at Forester University. Marianne, an old student of his, has opened a bar a few blocks from the University where the Professor now likes to relax at after a stressful day at work. The bar, Marianne, and her sister Dawn, who is now a student of his, become more to him that he would ever admit throughout the semester.</p><p>[Based on an anon writing prompt from Tumblr that was originally going to be a short one-shot but turned into many, many idea's.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Strange Magic fic. I can not, for the life of me, write Bog's accent, but we all know how he sounds so it shouldn't be an issue (I hope). Enjoy!

The last thing he wanted to do today was drink, but with the setting weight of the new semester on his shoulders and the already heavy weight of his mother and aunt prying into his less-than-social life, he _really_ needed a drink. A bar near the college opened recently, though it was most likely littered with his own students, he’s just going to have to grin and bare it.

When he opened the doors to the small bar, he was utterly surprised to see little to no patrons in the vicinity. Though, it _was_ only nine pm. There was still a long way to go into the night, and he could tell from how rowdy his students were today that they were night goers. Might take them a couple hours to come in here, which would give him enough time to order a drink and relax before heading home.

He sat at the bar for what seemed like an hour, muttering about no service, before a women sat next to him, a smug smirk on her face.

“Now where _is_ that bartender? She’s losing precious costumers by the second!” She swirled around in the stool and looked around the bar, lightly strumming her nails on her knee before gaping at the apron around her waist. “Here I am!” She pulled herself to sit on the bar before spinning around and hopping onto the other side. She blew some hair out of her face before pulling out a scotch glass.

“The usual, Professor?” She clicked her tongue at the confused look on his face. “Or, we have some imported Gin from Scotland? Just arrived last night.”

“Do I know you?” He grumbled, his confused face twitching into annoyance.

The woman placed a hand over her heart and sighed sadly. She looked at him with such faked sadness that made him snort and roll his eyes. “Alas, I suppose not… You’d think your own professor would remember you after sitting through his _boring_ lectures twice a semester for five years.”

Bog furrowed his brows and looked the woman over. Pixie cut hair, sticking up on one side, dark purple eye shadow, plum colored lips, flawless skin with faded freckles on her nose. No, he would have _definitely_ remembered this woman. There’s no way she would have taken his classes and not remembered her. She looked down at herself too, her face contorted sourly.

“Yeah.” She sighed, looking back up at him. There was a twinge of anger in her eyes, but she quickly forced it down and forced a smile on her face, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t look, _or_ act, like I did last time we spoke.”

Before he could ask questioned she busied herself with pulling out two glasses and an unopened bottle of _Dewar’s 18_. “So, Professor Kingston… The usual?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, let me know if this fic is okay! I'm really excited to hear your feedback!! :D


	2. Clues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching Strange Magic on repeat since I got home. I needed to write .__.

Chapter One: Clues

He shouldn’t be walking to that bar. He shouldn’t be intrigued by this mysterious woman who he had been a professor to. He shouldn’t be hoping that the bar was like it was last night so they could speak again. He definitely should not be thinking about only wanting her to pay attention to him either.

He stopped when he saw the lights of the bar flicker, furrowing his brows and tilting his head as the completely shut off.  _What the—?_

“And stay out!” Marianne yelled, the doors of the bar flying open from the impact of her kicking the drunken patron out,  _literally_. The man fell onto tin garbage cans and Hefty bags scattered on the edge of the sidewalk. Bog did not feel bad at the trash pile as he walked to stand next to Marianne. 

“Tough girl.” He mumbled, looking down at the poor sod.

“Hmm?” She turned, looking at his chest before her eyes slowly crawled up to his face. Her face lightly tinting as she met his gaze. “O—Oh, Professor! I—I forgot how… _tall_  you were.”

“Sweetie, co—”

“ _Shove it_ , Roland.” Marianne hissed, turning her attention back to the drunken man as he tried to sit up. “I’ve told you many times before and I am only going to say it one more time.” She stepped over him and pulled him up by his shirt collar. “You are  **not**  welcome at  ** _my_**  bar.  **Ever**. Step foot in here again and I swear not even your father’s fucking money can keep  _you_  out of a law suit.” She huffed and let go of his collar, standing straight.

Roland quickly and clumsily grabbed her hand, “Buttercu—Uff!” Roland fell back as Marianne’s right fist connected with his cheek.

 ** _Very_** _tough girl._ Bog thought to himself as watched Roland slip out of consciousness. Marianne shook her head, making a noise of disgust before kicking some garbage onto the man. 

“Asshole.” She mumbled, moving away from him. She froze, her head slowly turning to Bog. “I am  _so_  sorry you had to see that. I—Shit… I can explain! I—”

Bog held up a hand, shaking his head, “It is unneeded.” He motioned with his chin towards her hand, “Impressive right hook, by the way. He never stood a chance.”

“Oh! Thank you. I—uhh…  _train_.” Marianne tilted her head away, averting her gaze as she pushed a strand of hair from her face. She cleared her throat, turning her gaze back to Roland.

“Well,” She forced a smile and pointed to Roland, “At least this is another clue for you. He was a student of yours too… For a  _very_  short period. Monday’s at two forty-five… Though you probably have had a lot of Monday classes at two forty-five.” 

_Clue?_

He turned his head to look back down at the messy pile. Roland looked even less familiar than Marianne did.

“When did he graduate?” Bog looked back at Marianne who snorted at his question.

“He didn’t.” She smirked down at the man, placing a hand on her hip. “Even with all his father’s  _precious_  money, he couldn’t keep his grades above a D.”

 _Rich father. Monday classes at two forty-five._  He looked back down at Roland.  _At least four years ago._

“Now,” Marianne turned back towards the bar, “Would you like the usual, Professor?”  



	3. Aesthetics

##  **Chapter Two: Aesthetics**  

“Principles of Aesthetics?”

_Really?_

Marianne clicked her tongue as she skimmed through the syllabus her sister, Dawn, had slid across the bar. The Professor was on a whole  _other_  level of teaching this semester so it seems. Dawn had three of his classes out of the five she was taking this semester: Business Law I, Introduction to Management and Principles of Aesthetics. Marianne had taken and passed all his Business courses and, with great shame, remembered a lot more of his classes than the other professors she sat through than she would ever admit out loud. But, Principles of Aesthetics? Was Professor Kingston teaching this when she attended?

“I don’t even understand why I have to take that stupid course!” Dawn whined, glaring down at her Coke bottle. “What does aesthetics have to do with business?” Marianne hummed as her sister continued to complain, going over the syllabus again.

**_Week One: What is Philosophy?_ **

**_Week Two: Caves and Acorns_ **

**_Week Three: Urban Aesthetics_ **

**_Week Four: Kant’s Beauty and the Sublime_ **

**_Week Five: The Aesthetics of Nature_ **

**_Week Six: The Economic Aesthetic_ **

**_Week Seven: Culture and Hybridity_ **

**_Week Eight: Postmodernism and the Creative Process_ **

**_Week Nine: Going Forward and Making Sense of it all. Maybe_ **

**_Week Ten & Eleven: Let’s see what you children have learned_ **

Marianne snorted, a smile playing on her face as she read the last sentence in Professor Kingston’s voice. He always put that on for the last two weeks of the semester – no matter the class. Finals. Professor Kingston had a…  _unique_  way of doing finals – one she refused to tell Dawn about and would most definitely be attending no matter what the Professor may have to say about her sudden appearance in his class again.

Marianne held her hand out toward Dawn, wiggling her fingers. “Lem’me see your notes for this class.”

“Aesthetics? Really?” Dawn’s eyebrow rose in shock, but she still pulled out the notebook from her messenger bag. Marianne greedily took the notebook, but had the change to roll her eyes at Dawn’s childishness. She wrote over the cover of the notebook already:  _Aesthetics Taught by an Ass-thetic_  with her name lightly written under the bolded scratches. She hoped the Professor hadn’t seen this yet. As Marianne opened the notebook Dawn spoke about class. How Professor Kingston was tough, he reminded Dawn of a statue whose eyes only moved when you weren’t looking, he apparently growls and sneers now too. Marianne remembered that about him, at least in the beginning of the semesters he kept up the façade that he was something to be feared. She knew from personal experience that he cared for his students, helping them with homework they didn’t understand or speaking to them after class when he would notice they weren’t there mentally in class. He cared, soon Dawn and the others in her classes would see it too. 

“You learned about  _boxes_  today?” Marianne looked up from the notebook at Dawn, a pierced eyebrow raised. Dawn nodded, starting to explain how Kingston spoke about never actually ‘thinking outside of the box’ or ‘stepping away from the crowd’. No matter what, everyone was in the same space – you just had to be extra special to make the box bigger. Marianne wrinkled her nose at her sister, her eyes moving back down to the notebook. She should have figured Dawn wouldn’t explain it all too well. But what did ‘thinking outside of the box’ have to do with Aesthetics?

“Think I can keep this?” Marianne asked as Dawn started packing up her things.

Dawn shrugged and waved a hand, “Sure, why not? I’ll print another one when I get back to our place—”

“Which—” Marianne cut her off, placing the syllabus in the notebook and setting it down on the back bar, “—You  _should_  be getting back to right now. It’s almost midnight, Dawn, and I don’t want to get yelled at by dad when he finds out you stayed up late at my bar,  _again_ , even if it isn’t a school night.”

Dawn groaned, but easily complied. Throwing back the last of her Coke before hopping down from the bar stool. “Fine… I’ll see you in the morning!”

“Goodnight!” Marianne called after her sister, ducking down behind the bar to grab some glasses. “Thank you and drive safe, sis!”

Marianne heard her sister speak again, a small ‘thank you’ before a deeper voice replied back. Marianne pulled her phone out as she stood back up, setting the glasses on the back bar and turning away, leaning her butt against the edge as she scrolled through her phone. She had a couple missed texts from her dad, a few missed called from numbers she didn’t know and two from her aunt – nothing that needed her immediate attention. She locked her phone and pushed herself away from the bar, sliding her phone back in her back pocket and turning around.

She smiled as she saw the Professor taking a seat in front of her, drenched head to toe in water from the most recent storm. He pulled off his rain coat as Marianne gathered their glasses and nearly empty bottle of  _Dewar’s 18_. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the strands that stuck to his forehead as she poured them their drinks. He grunted a small greeting, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Rough first week?” Marianne smirked, pouring some liquor in her own glass.

“Aye.” He mumbled, quickly grabbing his glass and throwing his head back, downing the drink swiftly. Marianne’s eyes widened as she set the bottle down on the bar, amazed at how Professor Kingston did not even cringe, cough or choke from the sudden bitterness he forced down. He took her glass before he even set down his own, greedily drinking the liquor like it was water. He took a deep breath once he sat the glass down. A hand trailed to the back of his neck, rubbing it slightly before he sat up straight and cracked it, rolling his shoulders and shaking out any tension he could.

“…  _What_?” He rasped out when he noticed Marianne staring at him, his own cheeks flushing from the alcohol as he slouched back down.

“Hm? Wha— Oh! N— Nothing, just… That bad?” Marianne cleared her throat, offering an awkward smile that look much more like a grimace. Her own cheeks flushed when Bog caught her eyes, quickly averting them to pout more liquor. 

“Aye. My students are  _idiots_.” He hissed, his voice throaty, glaring down at the slow filled glass. Marianne pulled her own glass away before Bog could get a grip around it, setting the bottle back down between them and leaning an arm against the bar. She lifted her glass, lightly clanking it against his, and offering a more natural smile before throwing back her own drink. She, unlike him, coughed and gagged before slamming her glass onto the bar so she could grab at her throat. Bog silently watched her, his lips twitching in amusement as she leaned her forehead against the bar. She groaned, forcing herself up and shutting her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Bog covered his mouth with a hand, hiding the smug smirk at his tough girl as she regained her composure.

“I…” She cleared her throat, shaking her head before continuing. “I’m sure a few of your students are smart. They wouldn’t have made it into your class otherwise.” 

“ _Roland_.” 

“ _Boxes_.” Marianne quickly opened the notebook, forcing herself to ignore the Professor’s last comment and quickly read through some of her sisters notes.

“ _What_?” He dropped his hand to grab his drink, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Thinking outside of the box.” Marianne shut the notebook and stood straighter, placed her hands on the edge of the bar and leaning forward. “It doesn’t exist, does it? At most, we can morph the box, expand it, push it, but we never step out of it, do we? It’s almost like Plato’s cave, right? In a…  _weird_  way.” Bog stared at Marianne blankly, an eyebrow slowly raising as she shifted from foot to foot nervously under his gaze. She had jumped ahead a week – if  ** _Caves and Acorns_**  were even referring to Plato’s Cave and Aristotle’s Acorn.

 _Shit_.

Finally, he spoke.

“Who  _are_  ye?” He shook his head in disbelief, a small smile playing on his lips as he silently chuckled.

Marianne shrugged, trying to keep the smug, giddiness she felt from showing as she spoke, “A person who find mystery extremely…  _aesthetic_.”

Bog snorted, shaking his head and picking up the liquor bottle.

“I… I didn’t use the work correctly, did I?” Marianne frowned, looking down at the notebook and opening it again. She skimmed through the first page as Bog spoke.

“Not in teh’ slightest, tough girl.” He chuckled, taking another gulp of his drink. He eyed the notebook as Marianne closed it in a huff, mumbled under her breathe as she poured herself another drink. He read the cover,  _Aesthetics Taught by an Ass-thetic_ , and under the bold chicken scratch was the name  ** _Fairfield_**.

 _Fairfield?_ Bog’s eyed widened slightly, the gears in his brain slowly turning. The name was  _extremely_  familiar, and he  _knew_  he had spoken it before today.

 _But when? Where?_  

“Ya know Ah teach Aesthetics this semester.” He stated, motioning with his head towards the notebook. “Or  _Ass_ -thetics… Nice touch.”

Marianne slid the book off the bar, shrugging and waving a hand, “I have  _no_  idea what you’re going on about, Professor.”

“Yah-huh.” He murmured behind his glass, eyeing her. “Who owns the book?”

Marianne pursed her lips, picking up the bottle and pouring the last of the liquor in her own glass. “My sister.”

“ _Sister_?”

“Yep.” Marianne smiled. “She’s taking three of your classes this semester.” She leaned her hip against the bar, holding her glass up and swishing it around.

“Which classes?” Bog watching Marianne carefully, setting his own glass down.

“Principles of Aesthetics.” Marianne started, looking at Bog from the corner of her eyes, “Laws of Getting into Professor Kingston’s Pants. How to Figure Out Someone’s Name in Seven Days.”

Marianne snorted as Bog’s expression turned sour. “Did you really think I’d give up her classes?”

Bog blew some hair from his face. “I suppose not,  _Fairfield_.” Bog gulped down the last of his drink and smirked at Marianne’s sudden stiffness. He leaned forward and plucked her own drink from her fingers, drinking the last of the  _Dewar’s 18._ Marianne growled, narrowing her eyes down at the notebook and seeing her last name etched under the  _Ass-thetics_  title.

_Damnit, Dawn._

“That doesn’t count.” She hissed, leaning down and picking up the notebook. 

“Dawn’s ye sister.” Bog smirked, his face flush. He leaned forward, resting his chin against his palm. Marianne’s own cheeks reddened, taking notice that his accent became more dominate when he was tipsy. “Ne’er would’a guessed sh’d be yer sissy, Ms. Fairfield.”

“Don’t call me that, Professor Kingston.” Marianne set the notebook down on the bar. “And yes, Dawn _is_ my sister – and it’s because of the hair, right? Or the eyes? Or the fact that I’m more focused on school than boys – for instance, instead of having my face glued to a phone screen, it was glued to you.”

Marianne finger froze as it pointed to Bog, her other hand coming up to cover her mouth as she realized what she had said. Bog had even realized what she said, sitting straighter and fingers gripping and twitching at the edge of the bar.

“I— I mean, you were my Professor— no,  ** _no_** — not— not  _my_  professor but— you were teaching and— and I needed to pass so I… paid attention to… you.” Marianne’s cheeks were blazing as she stared down at the notebook.

 _What the **fuck** , Marianne?_ 


	4. Trouble (Part One)

** Chapter Three: Trouble **

_I— I mean, you were my Professor— no,_ **no** _— not— not **my**  professor but— you were teaching and— and I needed to pass so I… paid attention to… you._ 

That sentence rang throughout his mind. He wouldn’t have thought much of it if it wasn’t for  _her,_  how she reacted made him start to wonder. He would have played it off as the obvious, she needed to listen to pass – any student did. Her sister, Dawn, did have her nose pressed against her phone, giggling and snorting the entire class, so not much more to think about there. But how she reacted…

How she gripped her wrist and bit her lip when he looked at her. How her cheeks flushed from embarrassment or from the drinks, he couldn’t tell at the time but now,  _maybe_ , it was because she somehow confessed? Confessed  _what_  though? That she is a good student? That she  _listened_  in class?

The silence had been thick between them as Marianne fidgeted, her fingers rolling around the hem of the apron, and the air only grew thicker as neither uttered a word. Marianne chewed at her lip, opened her mouth, shut it with a ‘click’ and opened it again. She started to speak when she was interrupted by another patron. She muttered that she’d be right back but he didn’t stick around long enough to find out. While she read their ID’s and started mixing drinks, Bog pulled out his wallet and set what he owned down, picking up his jacket and walking back out into the rain. He was too buzzed to drive and too distracted to call a cab, his head swimming with ‘what ifs’ and ‘go backs’.

But he couldn’t.

Not tonight. 

He needed to find out her name before he saw her again –  _needed_  to, for both of them. He needed to know who this tough girl was and why, suddenly, she made him feel things he hadn’t thought about in years with only a few conversations. At least he now had a bit of a start. 

 _Fairfield_.

* * *

Dawn sighed loudly, falling back against the couch as,  _again_ , the link to her Aesthetic quiz timed out. She’s had this problem before, the schools site never worked properly, but this was ridiculous. Thankfully Professor Kingston new about the bug and let the test be opened unlimited times, but only completed twice. Dawn knew it wasn’t only the schools site, Marianne had been flaky when paying the bill for the home+cable+wifi bundle – the internet wasn’t something her sister needed until Dawn moved in.

“You need to up your internet speed again, Marianne!” Dawn called out to Marianne, who was under mass amounts of blankets in her room, which was behind the wall the couch leaned against. Marianne didn’t know if Dawn knew if she was asleep or not, nor did she care because she couldn’t sleep. She felt exhausted, she was exhausted, but her mind refused to let her sleep – needing to remind her of the slip of her tongue… or  _multiple_  slips of her tongue. Marianne groaned into her pillow, yelling at herself. 

_Laws of Getting into Professor Kingston’s Pants? Really, Marianne? **Really**? What are you, a hormonal teenager? Where the hell did that even come from?_

**_Booze_ ** _._

Marianne pulled one of the blankets over her head, growling into the pillow.

_No shit. Booze is my weakness… Note to self: Do not drink with the Professor._

**_Or! Get wasted with him and—_ **

“Marianne?” Dawn knocked on her door. “When you’re more awake, think you can help with some of my Business Law homework?”

Marianne’s voice was muffled by the pillows and blankets, but Dawn heard it clearly. She’s learned her sisters after-work muffles by now.

“Give me another hour!”

“Take your time, sis!”

**_—Or the fact that I’m more focused on school than boys – for instance, instead of having my face glued to a phone screen, it was glued to you—_ **

_Shut up, stupid brain. **Now**._

Her brain did not, instead it made her relive the entire night over and over until the hour was up. She felt weird when she realized that Professor Kingston had left the bar, even sad when she saw the money –  she hasn’t let him pay since the second night, after seeing her punch Roland in the face. Marianne picked her head up and looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. 4:56 PM. She’s been laying in bed for almost ten hours and she did not even sleep. She let her head fall back on the pillow and let out a sad whine. If the Professor did show up tonight, she hoped whatever grouchy mood she would be in wouldn’t drive him off… again.


	5. Trouble (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA’LL GETTING TWO CHAPTERS TONIGHT BECAUSE THIS ONE IS SO FREAKIN SHORT AND THE NEXT ONE IS 9 PAGES!! :DDD ENJOY MY LOVES!!!

**Chapter Three: Trouble (Part Two)**

“I drove him off.” Marianne mumbled into the couch, her sister sitting on the armrest above her head. Dawn sighed loudly, lightly petting Marianne’s hair as her sister moped around. It had been nearly two weeks since the Professor had stepped foot in Marianne’s bar. Since that time, it became blazingly obvious to Dawn what exactly was making her sister such a grouch. Professor Kingston. Marianne had been silently slipping hints while at the bar that she was waiting for someone, then she started asking Dawn about classes – specifically  _the_  professor, then Marianne refused to open the bar tonight and Dawn had to ask. 

Marianne told her everything, how he didn’t remember her name, how it was a game between them, how she said the stupid possessive comment and he ran…

“You’re such a dork, Marianne.” Dawn smiled, flicking the back of Marianne’s head. Marianne picked her head up and glared at her younger sister. Before Marianne could retort, the Skype ringtone sang through the speakers on Dawn’s Mac Laptop that sat on the coffee table in front of them. Dawn smiled, seeing who was calling and quickly accepted the video call.

“ _Hey!_ ” Sunny’s cheery voice sang through the speakers before he coughed, “ _S—Sorry, I need to fix the webcam… **again**_.”

“Take your time.” Dawn smiled, sitting back on the armrest, “I’m just sitting here with Marianne. Remember Professor Kingston?”

“ _The one she has a crush on?_ ”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah.” Dawn sighed, “He still hasn’t shown up at the bar.”

“How does he—? I  _just_  told  _you_ —”

“ _Really? Why?_ ”

“No idea.” Dawn shrugged and shook her head. Marianne let her face fall back onto the couch. It was pointless trying to fight with Dawn about this. “He hasn’t come back at all. He seems fine at school, except for the occasional staring off into the distance thing.”

“He still does that?” Marianne’s spoke, her voice muffled from the couch. 

“Oh, yeah. Even more the past week....  _Oh_! He might be thinking about you, Mari! Oh! Sunny! He doesn’t even remember Marianne!” 

“ _What?_ ” Sunny’s face finally showed on screen, his eyes wide, “ _How does he not? You—_ ”

“He remembers me…  _kinda_! Just not my name!” Marianne picked her head up, looking at the screen.

“Yeah, they have this weird ‘figure out my name’ cliché thing going on.” Dawn snickered, earning a small push from Marianne. 

“N— No! Dawn, why—” 

“ _Why don’t you just go to the school with Dawn tomorrow?_ ” Sunny said, rolling and rubbing his right shoulder. “ _You could see him, and if someone tells you to get off campus you could just say you’re helping your sister or leave?_ ”

“ _Sunny_!” Dawn hissed, glaring at the webcam.

“ _What?_ ” Sunny squeaked, “ _You and I both know she would have come up with that on her own if I hadn’t suggested it – probably involving scaling down from the roof to the window and **stealing**  the guy—_” 

“That isn’t a bad idea, actually.” Marianne said, pursing her lips and looking at the edge of the coffee table. “I just need to—”

“No!” Dawn looked down at Marianne.

“ _Love_ —”

“No!” She repeated herself, pointing towards the computer screen. “Sunny, I love you, but Marianne is  _not_  doing this! It’s a terrible idea and—”

“Marianne is sitting  _right here_.” Marianne sat up, looking back at the computer screen, “And she  _is_  going to do this.”

“Marianne…” Dawn looked away from the computer screen, meeting Marianne’s eyes. “You could get into some  _serious_  trouble if you get caught sneaking into the school.”

“I know, but I just… I  _need_  to see him, Dawn.” Marianne took a deep breath and stood up from the couch, “Besides, I always loved an adventure.”

Dawn scoffed, rolling her eyes back to Sunny on the screen, “You must be desperate if you’re calling going to school an  _adventure_.”


	6. The Kant Sublime

** Chapter Four: The Kant Sublime **

One thing Marianne loved about Forester University was the crappy security. She couldn’t blame the college though, it was a big campus, thousands of students, but for her to just walk into the University – without having to show any proof of attending the school – was a little scary. Marianne blended in fairly well, taking Sunny and Dawn’s advice and not wearing her usual ‘Dark Pixie Uniform’ as Sunny had called it multiple times last night. As long as she didn’t stand out, she was okay. She silently admitted that she missed wearing the plaid her sister had stashed away from her, specifically the long sleeve, button down, over shirt. All roughed up, and open plaid top she had over her tank top hidden behind the red, purple, black and green plaid coverage she had on. A dark green beanie covered her messy hair, sunglasses kept her eyes hidden, her make-up lighter than the usual dark make-up she had on during working hours. She couldn’t let a student recognize her, even though it was known by a lot of students that she had a sister that attended Forester. She didn’t feel like stopped and chatting with her patrons, that was something to do during working hours. Unless she specified otherwise that she wanted to speak to them outside of the bar, she would rather them stay away.

She pulled out her cell phone as she entered building D5, texting Dawn.

 _—Marianne [4:19 pm]  
_ _Room #?_

_—Dawn [4:20 pm]  
_ _I cant believe ur actually doing this, Mari! that im allowin u 2 do this!_

Marianne shut her eyes and let out a shaky breath.  _I can’t believe it either, Dawn…_

She repeated her prior text, immediately getting the number.  ** _409, 4 th floor. _**Marianne ran to the elevator, squishing through the doors before they shut. Three other student stood inside the small lift with her. She looked to see the fourth floor was already pushed. She leaned back on the wall, rubbing the back of her neck before lightly cracking it. She hissed, her nails digging into the back of her neck. 

_Not a good crack._

One of the students spoke, “Are you related to Professor Kingston?”

Marianne looked at the three student, raising a brow, “No. Why?”

“He, uh… Does that neck cracking thing  _a lot_.” The female student spoke.

“A lot of people crack their necks after a long day.” Marianne mumbled, straightening up as the elevator passed the third floor. The elevators were slower than she remembered.

“O— Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

Marianne stared at the students who spoke strangely, “I’m not offended? Wh—” The elevator doors opened, the three students quickly whizzing out before Marianne could finish speaking. Marianne stepped out of the elevator, watching the students walk away quickly. 

 _Well then…_  

Marianne walked the opposite way, turning around a corner and heading down the hall until she saw the large, squeaky doors she remembered so  _fondly_. She never had a class in this specific room, but the doors could be heard opening and closing from the second floor. These doors could practically be called legends around here, the only doors the school has never replaced. Marianne walked in, taking notice immediately at the boy’s surround Dawn. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw Dawn wave them off, happily staring down at her phone.

 _Texting Sunny no doubt._ Marianne thought with a smile. Marianne pushed by the boys, ruffling the top of Dawn’s hair.

“H— Hey!” Dawn swatted her hand away before smiling up at Marianne. “I can’t believe you’re actually here!” Dawn stood up, wrapping her arms around her sister.

“I can’t believe it either.” Marianna said once the boys left, pulling back from Dawn. “But, I do stupid shit almost every day… What’s the worst that could happen!” 

Dawn motioned with her index finger to the upper rows of desks, “If you don’t want to be kicked out, I would suggest sitting near the middle, closer to the back rows. That’s the, uhh… ‘slacker’ area, also darkens even more when the lights go out. He doesn’t pay much attention over there and with the added darkness there’s no way he’ll recognize you...”

“Will do. Thank you, Dawn.” Marianne mumbled, offering her sister another smile before climbing the stairs. She listened to Dawn, sitting near the back and in the middle of the row. She looked back over at Dawn who gave her two thumbs up before the legendary door made another loud screech. She saw the students quickly take their seats as the Professor appeared from the underpass.

He was immediately turning on the projector and setting up his laptop as the students sat, the projector screen had already been set up prior to his arrival. It was like déjà vu all over again. How he set up, kept looking over his shoulder when a certain sound would annoy him, how he still muttered to himself while he set up the class. Marianne couldn’t help but chuckle, this professor was still  _her_  professor.

**_He’s not your professor._ **

Marianne’s shoulders fell, leaning back against the chair as that thought consumed her. He wasn’t her professor, he never was, never will be. He is  _a_  professor, one that she just so happened to have classes with… and snuck into his class again years later because she hadn’t seen him.

She had it bad… Whatever ‘it’ was.

The student’s voices slowly died down as Professor Kingston’s routine ended. The lights dimming as the white screen showed today's topic. 

**The Kant Sublime**

Marianne leaned forward on the desk, rested her chin on her palm. Students pulled out their notebooks as Bog walked around his large oak desk and leaned back on the edge, almost sitting for his height, crossing his arms and waiting for the sudden noises of zippers and velcro to stop.

“The Kant Sublime.” His voice rang through the large room once it silenced. He looked relaxed, not like she remembered him standing the last time she was in his class. He had been stiff, agitated, cracking his neck and practically growling whenever someone spoke. His voice had been on edge, sharp – no one dared even saying goodbye after class to him… She couldn’t remember if she had said goodbye to him. She furrowed her brows and pursed her lips in thought. She must have. He was her favorite Professor, Professor Plum nearly tied with him. She wondered what it would have been like being in a classroom with  _this_  Professor when she still attended. She got goose bumps as he continued, his voice was loud, deep but soft, welcoming. She couldn't help but smile. He really was different, more approachable. Maybe he was actually trying to connect to his students for a change.

 _About time, asshole._ Marianne thought smugly, smirking in the dim light.

“Before we start on Kant, did ye enjoy the homework?”

 _Wow! He’s even—_  

“Wasn't  _too_  hard for yer pathetic wee minds, was it?” The smug look on Bog’s face made Marianne roll her eyes.

 _—_ _Annnddddd there goes the **once**  approachable Professor Kingston…  He had a short but good life, I will miss him dearly._

Marianne’s nose crinkled in annoyance, but her expression quickly changed to confusion as some student laughed before talking about the issues they had. Marianne remembered what Dawn told her of the homework:  **Write a three-page essay apply Plato's Cave and Aristotle’s Acorn to your major**. Personally, she couldn't see Dawn applying it to a major she wasn’t fully invested in, but her sister somehow made it work. She was pleasantly surprised when she read the essay. 

“Ye have to remember,” Bog started, readjusting himself on the desk, eyes scanning the room. “There is nah  _correct_  way teh write yer essay. This is Philosophy, yer own interpretation of Aesthetics and how it applies to  _yer_  major, and to  _you_.”

Marianne furrowed her brows and pursed her lips. His accent was really dominating here… How relaxed was he?

“Any more questions concerning ye homework?” No one else spoke so he nodded and picked up a small remote from the desk behind him, aiming it at the screen. The slide changed. “We never got to finish talking about  _all_  of Aristotle’s opinions on beauty last class, only three slides, so we’ll quickly look over them before we start on Kant.”

He switched the slides, Aristotle’s Acorn appeared again. He moved the slides back until the slide where the class left off of appeared.

“‘ _Beauty is a matter of size and order.’_ ” He set down the remote and pushed himself off the desk, slowly walking from one side of the class to the other. Marianne’s eyes switched from student to student as they hastily wrote down the slide and its bullet points, Bog rattling off each bullet point and his opinion on the ideas. Some students asked questions, nothing but the usual hesitant college student trying to get a grasp on the class.

_It's week three, stop being so hesitant and get use to asking questions._

Marianne frowned, her eyes scanning around the room. This didn't  _feel_  like a Philosophy class… Where was the debate? The excitement? This was philosophy about beauty! Someone should be arguing about something! Where’s the ‘my girlfriend is hotter than yours’ bullshit?

 _God_ , Marianne’s eyes traveled over to Dawn who was slowly falling asleep in her chair, her phone forgotten on the desk.  _No wonder she says this is her least favorite class._  

She hardened her eyes on Bog as he continued to speak, watching his face carefully, though the sunglasses made it hard to focus in the dim light. She reluctantly took them off, laying them over her beanie and leaned her chin back on her palm as he changed the slide again.

 **Kant: Reflective Judgment**

_Here we go._

“An object canbe: Agreeable. Good. Beautiful. Sublime…” He moved back to the desk and sat, his long legs stretching in front of him, arms crossing. “Observation versus Judgment. An example could be—”

“The Professor is  _tall_  compared to he sounds like an  _asshole_.” Marianne spoke loudly, leaning back against the chair. All eyes fell on her immediately, including Bog’s – who she had hoped wouldn’t so easily detect her in the almost pitch black spot she sat in. Shit… Did she say that out loud? She chewed on her lip as the silence continued, even Dawn’s eyes bugged out a little. Did she break a ‘no talking’ rule or ‘do not interrupt the Professor’ or—?

Bog snickered silently and nodded, “Aye, exactly. The Professor—” He stood up and motioned down at himself, “—is tall  _is_  an observation. Now, me sounding like an  _asshole_  is not only judgmental but a  _wee_  bit hurtful.”

“Want someone to kiss your bruised ego and make it all better,  _Professor_?” Marianne crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side and clicking her tongue. Bog narrowed his eyes into the darkness, happy that the dim lighting hid the blush that slowly burned against his cheeks. Who was this student? Why haven’t they spoken up before? Bog’s eyes strained to try and see through the darkness. Why did their voice sound so damn familiar?

Another student spoke, thankfully before Bog’s sudden silence could be questioned, the student’s voice scratchy and hesitant, “W—What about…  _feeling_  bad vibes from someone compared to speaking to someone, then feeling those bad vibes?”

“Another one about me?” Bog crossed his arms, smirking towards the student.

“N— No, sir— Professor— Sir, I—” 

Bog chuckled, waving his hand, “Ah know what ye mean… Aye, observation versus judgment. Another great example, lad.” He picked up the remote again, the slide changing.

**Kant: Judgment**

“Let us speak a bit about  _judgment_.” Bog turned back to the class. “Let me remind you that this is all in Kant’s perspective, this is him, his thoughts and idea’s – all his own opinions… ‘If he says the Canary Wine is agreeable, he is quite content if someone else corrects his terms and reminds him to say instead: It is agreeable to me.’ because ‘everyone had his own [sense of] taste.’... Now, is this subjective, objective or judgmental?”

A few students mumbled answers, other spoke more loudly but with the wrong answers. Since subjective and objective wasn’t on the agenda today, even though from Dawn's syllabus it showed they went over that  _week one_ , and since ‘judgmental’ was in the title, everyone said judgmental. She looked over at Dawn, internally screaming at the back of her sister’s head to say the correct answer.

_Come on, Dawn, I know you know this! Say ‘subjective’! Say it!_

But her sister remained silent. Marianne huffed, pushing a hand under the beanie to scratch her scalp. More ‘judgmental’, even one ‘objective’, murmurs flew around her and she was about to scream.

 _It **isn't**  judgmental, you idiots! I’m not defending you against Professor Kingston anymore! _Marianne fixed her beanie as another thought struck her.  _He_ _really_   ** _wasn't_** _kidding about having stupid students… I am so sorry, Professor._  

Marianne’s eyes moved back to Bog, seeing the irritation that she saw at the bar almost a week ago slowly start to surface again.

“Oh my _god_!” Marianne cut off another student, point down at the student below her level, “It’s _subjective_ , you idiots!” Marianne’s sunglasses fell down her face in her outburst, falling perfectly on her nose. She wished everyone would stop looking at her when she spoke, though _yelling_ wasn’t exactly what she had done before, she tugged the beanie down a bit subconsciously. The last thing she needed was Bog to recognize her during class. Not only because she was no longer a student here, but because she was almost stalking him. She knew this wasn’t stalking, she had a Masters in Law to remind herself of that every day, but it was still not something she was use to doing – she wouldn’t do this for just anybody.

“Aye.” Bog breathed out, straightening up on the desk. He cleared his throat and spoke the next question  _to her_. “If he proclaims something to be beautiful, then he requires the same liking from others; he then judges not just for him but for everyone, and speaks of beauty as if it were a property of things… Subjective? Objective? Or Judgmental?”

“Objective.” She shrugged, leaning forward against the desk again, her chin resting back in her palm.

“Teh student knows more than her Professor but she isn't taking advantage of him knowing that.” He smirked, “Subjective? Objective? Judgmental?”

"Judgmental...  _And_  a little subjective." Marianne mumbled the last bit, leaning back against her chair, "You  _do not_  know that she knows more than the dear old professor, or that she may  _or_  may not be taking advantage of his poor soul – bad judgment on your part Professor... My heart is breaking."

Marianne faked a sniffle as Kingston nodded to her, his mouth slowly twitching into an amused smile.

“Besides,” Marianne sighed, leaning forward and crossing her arms over the desk. She smirked at him, “You aren't  _my_ professor _._ ”

His posture changed instantly, standing straight and whatever relaxation he had just felt disappeared. He saw a challenge,  _finally_ , and will greedily take it but it was sad to say that this challenge came in the form of an old student of his that should not even be in this class  _or_  on this campus. He shot a wary glance towards Dawn who forced an apologetic smile, her shoulders hunching up and pressing against her ears. He’ll speak to the Fairfield siblings after class. He looked back towards the eldest Fairfield, biting the inside of his cheek as she pulled off her beanie and sunglasses. His eyes had finally adjusted to the dark enough to make her out now. If it hadn’t been for the beanie, he would have known it was her. His Tough Girl stood out in a crowd, even in the dim lit room she had made herself known. Déjà vu started to set in as he turned to the next slide.

 **Kant: Beauty**  
**Judgment of Beauty**

“ _Disinterested_ ,” He began, eyes fixed on Marianne, “We take pleasure in something because we find it beautiful rather than judging it's beautiful because we find it pleasurable.”

“What about your partner?” Marianne tested, licking her suddenly dry lips. “The only way we take pleasure in something is because it is beautiful? What one person finds…  _aesthetically_  pleasing can be different for someone else. Just like pleasure, one might like neck biting while someone else is repulsed by the idea.” 

A few of the male students around her looked at her, wide eyed, waiting,  _wanting_. Before Bog could speak Marianne started again, ignoring her new fan base.

“I understand that this is Kant’s opinion, philosophy is nothing but opinions and ideas, but these opinions are…  _are_ objective. This—” She motioned to the slide which he quoted, “—is  _telling_  us that we only find pleasure in beauty and vise versa. Kant isn’t letting us have an opinion about this.”

Bog smirked, changing the slide as the next bullet point of beauty showed.

**Both universal and necessary, meaning the expectation that others agree with us. Although we may say ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, that is not how we act. Rather, we debate and argue about Aesthetics judgments.**

“Ah…” She ducked her head, her face heating after she read the slide. "I stand corrected."

" _Ye do_." He smirked, going back go addressing the class.

“For those of you who  _do_  have a partner, or even a close friend, a sibling may work as well: Take a step back and remove what brought you two together and see if the attraction, the pull that brought you two together, is still there.” He leaned back against the desk. “Whether it be video games, art, sports,  _whatever_... remove what clicked between ye two and see if whatever beauty you saw is still there… If ye two can still continue without that connection.”

A few of the students defended their relationships, and Marianne's eyes trialed over to Dawn, seeing if she understood this lesson at all. Her sister was now awake at least, but if any of this class was clicking with her it didn't show on her face. Bog changed to the next bullet point.

**‘Purposive without purpose’ (sometimes translated as final without end) an object's purpose is a concept according to which it was made (the concept of a vegetable soup in the middle of a cook, for example). An object is Purposive if it appears to have such a purpose, such as it appears to have been made or designed, it is part of the experience of beautiful objects. Kant argues that they should affect us as if they had a purpose, although no particular purpose may be found.**

“Beauty without a purpose?” Bog uncrossed his arms, planting them on the edges of the desk behind him. “Is there such a thing?”

 _No_.

“Possibly.” A meek voice spoke. Marianne looked over at Dawn, her eyes widening. “I mean… It is possible, obviously because  _possibly_ … Anyways, not everything beautiful is created for reason.”

“Name something you find beautiful that isn't made for a beautiful purpose.” Kingston challenged.

Dawn furrowed her brows, running a hand through her hair as she thought. Bog spoke softly after a long pause. “That question doesn't have an answer, Dawn. Everything, beautiful or not, is made with a reason in its purpose.”

He offered her a smile, “You get points for the challenge. If ye can figure something out by the end of class, I'll give ye extra credit.” Dawn smiled brightly back, relaxing back in her chair. Marianne watched in awe at Bog, the grouchy professor she once knew  _had_  changed. He changed the slide as Marianne continued to stare.

**Beauty must give a rise to pleasure by engaging our capacities of reflective contemplation. Judgments of beauty are sensory, emotional and intellectual all at once.**

“Sensory, seeing. ‘Beauty in the eyes of the beholder’ plays a big part of this.” Bog lightly tapped his knuckles on the top of the desk before straightening out. “Emotional, feelings. There are many emotions and not all are meant for beauty. Pity, for example, is anything but beautiful… Intellectual, your brain, your  _connection_. Many do not realize this but before you admit attraction to the body, the mind has already made up its mind – or, you might just find their intelligence attractive and not their appearance. Though, Kant seems to disagree.”

“Do you disagree?” Marianne asked, her voice softer than before. “W— With Kant… You agree that a mind can be more beautiful than appearances?”

The class stared at her as she spoke, their eyes moving back to Bog, waiting for his answer.

After a long pause he spoke. “Ah have yet to meet someone who can sway me from Kant’s perspective on certain beauties.”

“So you  _don't_  believe a person might love someone's intelligence over their physical form?”

Bog leaned back against the desk, tapping his fingers against the wood, his brows furrowing in thought. “Have ye met someone who challenged that thought?”

“Yes.” She said a little too quickly, sitting up straighter, “I—”

“Class…” Bog cut Marianne off and stood, staring over his students. “By a show of ye hands, who finds beauty more important than intelligence?”

When no one raised their hands Bog groaned, rolling his eyes. He placed a hand on his hip, massaging his temple with the other.

“Ye aren't gonna get marked off fur being  _truthful_. This is a class discussion and Ah'm asking you all a question. If ye don't answer truthfully,  _then_  Ah'll mark down yer grade.”

Soon the hands rose and Marianne was shocked at the amount of hands that went up… everyone save for three other students, Dawn and herself. Marianne’s eyes moved back to Bog as he spoke. He looked over the class, those brilliant blue eyes tainted with hopelessness as his eyes fell back to Marianne.

“In the end, Tough Girl…" Bog was speaking to her, his voice low, “The only thing that matters... is looks.”


	7. Obstacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg so hiii!!  
> hows everyone been?!  
> I know it's been like... 8 months (give or take) since I've updated this!  
> I actually have like, 10 drafts of this chapter that I hated with fiery passion so I scrapped 'em and came up with this short gem.
> 
> I am sorry it's so short, but I kinda just wanna get the ball rolling again, ya know?
> 
> Thank you to all who are still subbed to this story and have it bookmarked/are on the look out for updates, you all rock! And welcome new readers (if I even get any)!
> 
> Now, without further ado, here is chapter five~

Marianne pulled the keys to the bar out of her pocket, unlocked the back door before walking through. The door sounded with a soft click behind her before she blindly locked it and continued further into the bar. She threw her bag onto the couch near the door, rubbing her shoulder and rolling her neck until she heard the pleasant ‘popping’ sound of her joints.

 _Lovely_ …

Marianne had left Bog’s class with a series of acrobatics that left her with a stiff neck and a swollen left ankle, but it didn’t seem to matter. She had forgotten the door would give her away no matter what. She had jumped over the railing and into the underpass, dashing for the door while the Professor was busying himself with the next slide. She had tried opening the door slowly, in hopes of it not creaking and giving her away, but luck wasn’t on her side. _Ever_. She made a mad dash to the stairs without looking back. 

Did she feel guilty? No. Not at all.

Should she feel guilty? That was up for debate.

The Professor’s words and expression still clouded her mind, left her distracted and antsy. The way his sapphire eyes lost their playfulness, leaving them a dull blue-grey that showed hopelessness and pity. The way his crocked smirk twisted into a mournful frown. How his expression shifted from challenging and smug to submissive and wounded.

It wasn’t the Professor she’d debated with for four and a half years. It wasn’t the Professor who she looked up to once she found out about Roland. It wasn’t the Professor who had told her ‘fuck what the world thinks’ during a meeting during her second year of college. Her Professor was a fiery and passionate asshole who never bowed down or showed mercy. This Professor… was new.

Maybe, she just hadn’t seen _this_ Professor last time because she was too caught up in herself and making her father and family happy… and because she was pitying herself. He held the same expression she had donned for months after Roland.

Marianne groaned, tossing the wet beanie off her head and ruffling her hair. Droplets of water fell onto her exposed collarbone and shoulders, gooseflesh rising as the cold droplets cascaded under her shirt and down her arm. She pulled her phone out from her back pocket to check the time; pleased to see she still had an hour to replace emptied bottles of liquor she had yet to switch out. 

She busied herself with work, ignoring the texts she got from Dawn asking where she was, ignored the way her stomach twisted when thoughts of Bog surfaced, ignoring the stupid Sharpie doodles she’d made along her arm as she figured out her escape plan during Professor Kingston’s lecture. She ignored everything she possibly could until her phone buzzed in her back pocket. 

 _—Aiden [8:03 PM]  
_ _Open up?_

Marianne cursed under her breath, heading towards the back of the bar to unlock the back door.

“Sorry.” Marianne mumbled as she pulled the back door open, stepping to the side to allow Aiden and Lizzie, her other employees, to step through. “I thought I had left the door unlocked.” 

“No problem,” Lizzie spoke, mono-tone and unamused, as she ringed her curly hair out over the trashcan next to the door, “not like it’s _raining_ or anything.”

Marianne cringed, shutting the door with a sigh.

“Ignore her,” Aiden said, flicking Lizzie in the forehead, “she’s just annoyed that she failed her first test with Professor Plum.”

“Hey!” Lizzie flipped her hair back over her head, sneering at the man, “I studied for that test! I spent the past four nights cramming for that stupid test! Who even gives a test so early in the fucking semester?”

“ _Language_.” Aiden scolded with a smirk.

“Professor Plum.” Marianne deadpanned, motioning for the couple to follow her. “I miss her class. She usually gives a pop-quiz during week five or six, so watch out for that, Liz.”

“Noted.” Lizzie grumbled behind her, grabbing her apron and tying it around her waist as Marianne walked to the front and unlocked the doors. She turned the ‘Open’ neon sign on before heading back towards the bar.

“I restocked everything, so we shouldn’t have any hiccups during the night.” Marianne nodded to the others as students slowly started to pile into the bar. Marianne took a deep breath, diving into her job for the next four hours.

Dawn came in at around 11 PM, perching herself on an empty barstool and watching Marianne with a raised brow as she scurried around the bar for an hour. She scribbled over napkins, writing ‘Professor Kingston’ with hearts around his name and waving them in Marianne’s face until she pulled the napkins away from her. She was ready to kick Dawn out by time her sister finally spoke.

“It isn’t polite to leave before class is dismissed, Ms. Fairfield.” Dawn said, sitting straight and taking on a commanding tone, much like Bog’s. Marianne raised a brow at Dawn as she refilled her Coke, her expression unamused as Dawn snickered at ‘how much she sounded like Boggy’.

“Oh, no,” Marianne set Dawn’s drink on the bar, her face sour, “you gave him a nickname.”

“Yup!” Dawn chirped, taking a sip of her drink. “Sooner or later, Boggy and you will be—” 

“Will be _what_ , Ms. Fairfield?”


	8. Let the Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the Games Begin, Sinners ;)

“Will be going, uh…” Dawn chewed on her bottom lip, index finger idling tapping against her cheek as the Professor in question sat down next to her with an intrigued bemused expression. “…will be going by a first name basis! That’s what!” Dawn slammed her open palm against the bar and quickly stood.

“Nailed it!” She fist-pumped before covering her mouth, her face flaring in embarrassment. She looked between Bog and Marianne, their faces failed at masking the amusement towards the current state of events, “…Oops.”

“’Oops’ indeed.” Marianne snorted, taking a sip of her sisters Coke. Dawn whined, pouting out her bottom lip as she reached for the Coke. 

“You should head home, Dawn.” Marianne said, setting the glass behind the bar. “I’m sure Sunny is waiting for your daily Skype call.” 

Dawn stuck her tongue out, grabbing her bag, “You’re lucky you’re right… Plus, I have _Business Law_ with Professor Pinecone in the morning.”

Marianne hid her snort behind her hand, watching as Bog furrowed his brows at the unheard of nickname as Dawn ran off.

“Professor… _what_?” Bog looked towards her for the answers, but she refused to give anything away. 

“We have nicknames for all the professors. In fact, I am the one that dubbed thee Sir Pinecone.” Marianne said vaguely with a one-shoulder shrug and an impish grin, taking another sip of her Coke before setting it down with an excited hum. “That—” she choked on the drink, clearing her throat before continuing, “that’s your next clue! There is no way you can’t remember that day. It was the _one_ day where you ever had to teach outside because the entire fourth floor was flooded and—” Marianne quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, cheeks stained pink once she caught sight of Bog’s slowly widening eyes.

“Did… did _ye_ throw ‘em damned pinecones at me head?” He hissed, leaning forward on the bar.

 _Since when did the word ‘pinecones’ sound so sexy?_  

“Depends who ‘ye’ is.” Marianne swallowed and cross her arms, putting on the façade of confidence even though Bog now had his serious ‘professor’ face on… which should _not_ make her heart beat do that— what even _was_ that? Was that even _normal_? Why did ‘professor eyes’ look like ‘bedroom eyes’— oh, dear _God_ , No! Bad Marianne! _Bad_! Stop—

Bog leaned back, replacing words with a breathless laughter so soft Marianne hadn’t thought was possible to come out of a man so rough and ragged. The butterflies in her stomach needed to _get a grip_. ASAP. This wasn’t professional. She shouldn’t feel like swooning every damn time he even looked her way.

“If ye dun’ mind me askin’, Ms. Fairfield,” Bog’s lips curled into a smug, impish grin, “what exactly du’Ah get fer guessin’ yer name?” 

It caused Marianne’s blood to boil but also a shiver to shot down her spine. Marianne swallowed thickly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing as she took in Bog’s sudden smugness. Something felt off in this situation—something she should be picking up but damn… the professor really knew how to distract her.

 _Which is **not** okay_.

“What do— does the Professor… wish to have?” Marianne momentary cursed at her selective stuttering, uncrossing her arms to grip onto the back of the bar. He bared his blunt teeth in a strangely seductive smile, a smile that caused heat to pool between her thighs and her grip tighten against the bar.

“Anythin’ Ms. Fairfield is willin’ ta offer.”

_Oh, **fuck**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's short, but this chapter is completely meant to be a tease and you'll see why soon :3 I hope you enjoyed the short chapter (and, again, im sorry that its short... I'm actually supposed to be sleeping but i just can't? so yeah.)


	9. Fairies and Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter lol hope you enjoy it!

Marianne chewed on the pen cap as she sorted through her bills and loans, sorting each into three different piles: Paid Off, Payment Due Now, Pay Next Month. This month money was tight. She had forgotten to pay a credit card bill last month, so it doubled over to this month and she had to figure out which bill could wait until she counted up her money at the end of the week from the bar. A notepad was set on her thigh as she sat lotus style on the couch, the uncategorized bills balancing on her other thigh while the three piles sat on the cushions before her. Dawn was still at school, calling Marianne to tell her that she had a group project for her Psych class that she needed to work on today. 

Marianne was happy to have the time to herself. Other than her worrying over bills, her mind kept bringing her back to the prior night with the Professor with mockingly bright ocean blue eyes and lips that could curl into a heart stopping smug grin; a wit that could rival her own and a brain that she’d loved to dissect (in a completely non creepy way _of_ _course_ ). She remembered when he spoke, how she felt a shiver ripple through her spin as his accent thickened throughout the night; light and humorful and smug. She remembered how his eyes, once finding every reason to stay off her, were glued to her; following her every time she left the bar to serve someone else, felt them on her back as she turned to mix drinks, felt them watch her with both interest in what she was doing and just to watch her squirm under his haunting gaze (at least that was her assumption – that was at least 99.99% accurate).

The Professor asks questions when he could, watching her with amusement as she scurried around from table to table, more college students seeming to appear as the night continued one even though it was the week before midterms. She decided, as she was immediately called to another table as Aiden and Lizzie were too busy with other tables, that she needed to hire a few more hands to help with the sudden spark of college students needing to get drunk in the middle of the week. This semester seemed to have more students than the preview two semesters and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that as she surveyed the tight space her bar was hosted in.

 _Another thing to possibly start thinking about_ , Marianne said, jotting down ‘look for bigger space’ on her notepad before underlining it twice.

She continued to shift and reading through the bills, absentmindedly humming her favorite Kelly Clarkson song (the singer was Marianne’s secret guilty pleasure) and tapping her pen against the notepad to the beat.

“ _What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… Mm… mm-mm-mmm— taller… doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone_ …” Marianne went back to humming, making a sour face as she read bill for her bar. The rent went up another two-hundred dollars because of recent property damage— Damage that had been done before the current semester started— Damage she caused by hurtling Roland through the glass window in the front when he drunkenly kissed her— Damage that she could have avoided causing if not for that fucking ex-hole…

“ _Fantastic_.” Marianne commented dryly, letting the paper slip between her fingers and onto the floor as she fell back against the couch, legs plopping atop the papers she had neatly stacked and notebook dipping into the grove between the cushions. She was irritated and tired, ready to sleep for the next century and then maybe a few more after that. She was fed up with money and being an adult and having responsibilities. She missed being in college where the only thing she really had to do was pass her classes and stay healthy. No one cared if she missed the dorm curfew, no one cared if she drank at all as long as she was doing okay in class and she was over 21, no one batted an eye when she would sneak a man into her dorm room (not that she ever had – she didn’t even do that with _Roland_ )—

Marianne stalled on that thought, furrowing her brows. She never really had done any of those things while she was in college. After breaking up with Roland during her fourth semester, she stuck to herself. She was always in her dorm hours before curfew, never drank unless at home for the holidays, never even thought about bringing a one-night stand into her dorm room—

 _Not like anyone would have even_ —… right?

 _Then_? Maybe not… but _now_?

One-night stands were always something Marianne had thought about doing to help her get over Roland—but in the moment as she sat in a bar or in class, scooping out the area or indulging in her little fantasy, she couldn’t stop the thoughts of not knowing if this person was already with someone stop her from perusing them. She knew what it was like to be cheated on by someone she was ready to marry—if she ever did that to someone else, she’d never be able to forgive herself. 

Daydreaming about a one-night stand was one thing, acting on it another. Because of her own trepidations, she would have to know who she was about to jump into bed with—but that never worked with one-night stands, not if you knew that you were going to see them again. Sometimes things didn’t get awkward after, kudos to the people who could actually do that, but with Marianne it would— it _will_.

Besides, she didn’t know anyone who—

Piercing blue eyes, rumpled hair, swollen and reddened lips smudged with dark plum colored lipstick, red and angry love bites peppered along pale skin— black button down shirt popped open, buttons hanging on by their threads, his onyx blue tie loosened around his neck but not off, safely secured around her palm to keep him close— pale skin heated against her palms— Swollen lips curled into a smug grin, “ _Well, Tough Girl?_ ”

Marianne made an uncharacteristic squeal of alarm as she lurched forward, clasping her hands over her mouth and whimpering at the feel of her heating face and growing arousal. Her eyes screwed shut and thighs clenched together as the image of a thoroughly disheveled Professor continuing to whisper sweet nothings in her ear continued to play in her mind. The nickname she had grown fond of over the past few weeks continued to be whispered against her heated flesh, her grip on his tie tightening as he peppered kissed down her jaw, to her neck, down her collarbone and— 

“ _No_.” Marianne whipped her head from side to side, her pixie cut flurrying wildly around her. “No. Nope. No— Nu-uh— No _freakin’_ way—!”

Marianne quickly focused on her phone as it vibrated on the coffee table— her mind comparing the vibration to Bog’s accent and the way her chest arched against him when he spoke to her in that thick, panty-throwing accent— 

“I need help.” Marianne cursed at herself before reaching for her phone, unlocking it to check the time before opening her text messages. 

_—Unknown [5:03 PM]  
_ _Exactly how many people know about the game we’re playing?_

Marianne raised a brow, confused on how to reply before another message appeared. It was an image: a medium sized white board with the words ‘Fairies and Kings’ written at the middle top, underlines in purple, red and green marker. There were five columns, each having their own title (Before Midterms, During Midterm, After Midterms, Finals Weeks, Break) with different professor’s names written in different columns. Marianne gapped when she saw Professor Plum’s name written in the ‘During Midterms’ section.

She knew instantly who the sender was.

_—Marianne [5:05 PM]  
_ _holy shit. i think dawns the only one who knows.  
_ _i dont think shed tell anyone. holy shit……._

Marianne quickly added Bog into her contacts as the ‘…’ appeared on the bottom of her screen. 

_—Professor [5:05 PM]  
_ _Plum has Dawn for Psychology. I have no doubt that is how this started._

Marianne scrolled back to the picture, enlarging it and mentally taking note on how most of the names were placed on _During Midterms_ and _Break_.

_—Marianne [5:06 PM]  
_ _sneaky little shits  
_ _……think you can place $50 on finals weeks 4 me?_

_—Professor [5: 07 PM]  
_ _Have such little faith in your professor, Ms. Fairfield?_

Marianne’s breath hitched— _your professor_.

 ** _Your_**. _Professor_.

“My… professor…”

_“—Tough Girl.” Bog groaned against her neck as he pulled her flush against him, one hand holding onto hers while the other raked its nails against her heated flesh. She whimpered against him, her grip tightening on his tie as he intertwined his fingers with her own. His blunt teeth grazed against her pulse before biting down, a growl rumbling in his chest when she bucked against him, her head thrown back as she moaned out his name. He let go of her hand and quickly lifted her, pinning her against the wall. His lips crashed down against hers, teeth clinking and tongues clumsily reaching for the other as Marianne locked her legs around his waist._

_“Bo— **oog** …” Marianne choked his name, head falling back against the wall as he bucked against her. He moved back to her neck, biting and suckling her skin to leave fresh, red marks in his wake._

_“Tough girl—”_

—“Marianne?” Marianne shrieked, phone falling from her grasp and onto her lap as she was pulled from her daydream.

“As graceful as ever.” Dawn giggled as she shut the door with her hip, locking it with her freehand before moving into the kitchen to place the large paper bag of take-out on the kitchen counter.

“Sorry!” Marianne quickly picked up her phone, checking the time and cringing. 5:20— _shit_. “I— Uh...”

“Oh! I thought I should warn you,” Dawn started as she tore the bag open, “Boggy asked for your number this morning—” Marianne came up beside her sister as she continued speaking, quickly grabbing the small foil bag that held a few eggrolls in and going back to the couch.

Marianne stared down at her phone as she stuffed one end of the eggroll in her mouth, her eyes narrowing at the screen as her thumbs hovered over the keyboard. 

 

_—Marianne [5:28 PM]  
_ _like I could ever not have faith in my professor  
_ _im just still at a loss of what to gift said professor when he figures out who his tough girl really is_

_—Professor [5:30 PM]  
_ _A name won’t change what I think of you.  
_ _As for the ‘gift’…  
_ _If you are unable to come up with something when the time comes, I will._


	10. Laws of Getting into Professor Kingston’s Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *snickers* I'm horrible.

Bog collapsed on the couch in the dark corner of his office after a long work day. Going over the review materials for the midterm next week was something he was used to. He was used to students not knowing the difference between _Franchise_ and _Franchisee_ , was used to being asked the same question five different times in 4 different ways, was used to students asking for office time to help go over the few sub-subjects they still couldn’t get a grasp on. Students he was used to; what he wasn’t used to was his co-workers suddenly betting on his personal life. He was used to Plum doing it, on account that she’s been doing it for as long as he can remember and he’s grown accustomed to expecting it, but his co-workers – save for Thane, Steph and Brutus – never give him much thought. 

He pulled the knot of his tie down before popping the first button of his shirt. His office was dimly lit and perfectly silent, most – if not all – of the buildings occupants having left for the night save for the few security guards that walked in and out of the building every so often. After today, Bog was thankful for the silence, the calm, the sheer perfection of having a moment to breathe before the shitstorm of classes tomorrow. All of his classes, except for Aesthetics, had midterms. Plus side of teaching a pointless class that has nothing to do with Law was that he didn’t have to put much effort into tests.

Bog’s ear twitched as he heard the sound of his door opening. Before whoever stood at his doorway would speak, he cut them off, unwilling to help anyone else until tomorrow.

“Office is closed.” Bog murmured tiredly, unmoving from the couch, “Come back tomorrow.” His ear twitched again as a light, airy sigh sounded from the doorway, the door shutting a second later and the soft ‘click’ of his lock sounding. 

“Oh, that’s too bad—” Bog quickly shot up, staring across the room at the eldest Fairfield sibling as she leaned back against his door with crossed arms; her impish, flirty smile made his heart skip a beat, the way her smoky, hungry amber eyes trailed up and down his body made him blush, the way her hip cocked out under his gaze, “—because there were some questions on the _Laws of Getting into Professor Kingston’s Pants_ study guide that I still needed help understanding.”

Laws of Getting into Professor Kingston’s Pants…?

Laws of… Professor Kingston... 

Getting… into…

Pants…

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“ _Oh_.” His eyes widened as the brunette pushed herself off his door and sauntered over to him, her smile turning into a predatory smirk. She hummed, skirting around the coffee table a few feet from the couch before coming to stand in front of him, her eyes never leaving him.

“Ah, well, um… A— Ah’d be willin’ to help ye with—” Bog nearly choked when his Tough Girl grabbed his hands and placed them on her waist as she straddled his thighs, “— _any_ question you have, Ms. Fai— Fairfield.”

She tilted her head to the side, a hand pressing against his chest and slowly moving up his torso as she purred, “ _Any_ questions, Professor Kingston?” She leaned up on her knees, towering over the professor for a change, cradling his cheeks in her palms as she leaned done, their lips a hair's length apart, their noses lightly bumping against each other.

“ _Aye_.” Bog breathed against her, eyes lidded as she pressed herself against him, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

“Then I guess the main question I have, _Professor Kingston_ , is can I skip the _midterm_ —” her hand skimmed down his chest, “—and go straight to the _final_?” Bog’s eyes shot open when the brunette palmed his erection with a satisfied smirk. Her fingers teased at his zipper, silently watching his reaction as she slowly pulled down the zipper. He felt his heart give out as she unbuttoned his dress pants and dipped her hand into his boxers, grasping him.

“Professor?” She hummed, nudging his cheek while pressing her lips against his neck. He shuddered under her ministrations, biting his lip and holding back a groan that threatened to escape. “ _Well_?”

“Bloody hell— _yes_.”

He kissed her, rough and fierce and hot. His left hand moved from her waist to her hip, fingers digging into her as his other arm wrapped around her waist possessively, a warm, callused palm pulling her against him. Her own hands grasped at him, one hand twisting his tie around her palm as the other continued pumping him. He groaned against her lips as she pulled on his lower lip—

Bog yelped as he slipped off the couch, falling on to the carpet as the loud obnoxious ringtone he had grown to loath sounded from his back pocket. He groaned as he shifted onto his back, taking notice to how uncomfortably tight his pants had become while fishing out his phone.

“Yeah?” Bog let his head fall back against the ground, one hand holding the phone up to his ear while the other rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“ _—WN! What— no! Give it **back** —_” Bog, still pushing the remnants of sleep from his mind, didn’t understand much of anything until he heard the younger sibling of the woman he had been having a _wonderful_ dream about said his name.

“ _You called him?!_ ” 

“ ** _You_** _weren’t going to!_ ”

“ _It’s past midnight, Dawn! He’s busy with… **professor** stuff!_ ” 

“ _And instead of apologizing for calling him at this late of an hour, you’re arguing with your sister as he waits patiently on the other line._ ”

He coughed, fully awake, as the phone was handed off between sisters. More hushed whispers and curses were exchanged before he heard her voice.

“ _Professor! Hey! Hi! Yeah— Um…_ ”

“Is… everythin’ alright?” Bog asked, shifting on the ground and leaning back against the couch. He brought his knees up, stretching an arm out over one knee as he rested his elbow on the other, his phone still held against his ear.

“ _Yeah_ …” She sounded breathless, her voice hitched as she continued, “ _Yeah, everything's— everything fine, just_ …”

There was another pause.

“Ye—” Bog cleared his throat, “Ye dun sound like yer at the bar?”

“ _Hm—? Oh, no. No_.” She sighed, the sound of distant giggling and a door closing sounded in the background, “ _The cops kinda… shut down my bar for the night—_ ”

“What?” Bog straightened, his eyes wide. “What— is everything— are ye—?”

“ _It was these stupid kids I cut off. Everything is fine—_ ” 

“And _ye_ — Are _you_ okay?”

He couldn’t help but blush, hearing the smile in her voice, “ _Like a little brawl will hurt **me**. I’m little bruised and battered, but no major injuries… at least, on my side. Can’t say much for the kids._ ”

“Bloody hell, Tough Girl.” Bog pinched the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “Can’t go a few weeks without a fight, can ye?” 

“ _Nope_.” She giggled before quickly cleared her throat, “ _I— I actually recognized one of them… He takes ‘Aesthetics’ with the ‘Ass-thetic’ Professor._ ”

He groaned, letting his head fall back to rest on the couch cushion, “Dun’not tell me tha’s ah new nickname.” 

“ _Hell no_.” Laughter. _Gods_ , her laugh... “ _You will forever be dubbed Professor Pinecone— Oh… Oh shit— I can’t believe I forgot when I just—... Did Dawn wake you with this call? I mean, it’s late and I know next week is midterms so..._ ”

Bog shut his eyes, immediately regretting it as the image of hungry amber eyes watched him with growing satisfaction, its owner riding him at a slowly agonizing pace as she clawed at his bare chest and moaned against his neck—

 _The dream didn’t even get **that** far_ , Bog cursed at himself, his breath catching in his throat as he shifted on the ground, trying to relieve some pressure against his erection.

“ _Bog?_ ”

 _Crap_. 

 _Why_ did she sound so worried and apologetic when _he_ was the one who should be apologizing for fantasizing about her?

“ _Shit, I’m sorry— You can hang up, go back to sleep. I’ll talk—_ ” 

“Nah— No. It— It’s fine, really.” Bog rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face heat, “Ye can wake me up whenev'r ye want, Tough Girl.”

Silence…   
  
“ _Oh?_ ” A shiver shot through his spine as his Tough Girl all but purred, “ _Can I also wake you up however I want, **Professor**?_ ” 

 _Shit_.


	11. Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some plot.

Dawn was a morning person – just like her namesake. Dawn adored waking up to the feeling of the sun sliding up her skin, heating her body until she had no choice but to wake and start the day. She was glad that this semester allowed her such little luxuries, her past semesters always had her awake before the sunrise and with no time to properly watch it. On those days, she was particularly grumpy, her sister having to deal with her grumpiness in the middle of work before telling her to go home and get some sleep and Sunny having to sing to her over Skype to even have her crack a small, nearly unnoticeable smile. One those days, her sister was gifted the wondrous thing she so craved in those early mornings and took full advantage of it; always asleep when Dawn wakes up and leaves for her morning class.

Dawn always counted on her sister being asleep; so imagine her surprise when she stumbled out of her room in the morning to see her sister sipping her black coffee and making pancakes while on the phone with her Professor. She just stood in her doorway with bemused eyes as she continued to watch her sister scurry around the kitchen while muffling her laughs behind her palm or coffee mug (whichever was more convenient at that time). Dawn blinked and took a step back into her room, shutting the door and taking a deep breath.

When she opens this door, her sister will not be awake.

When she opens this door, her sister will not be cooking pancakes at 5:45 AM.

When she opens this damn door, her sister will not still be on the phone with Bog.

Dawn reopened the door and knew that she had been thrown into the Twilight Zone.

Marianne was awake. Marianne was smiling, laughing and awake. Marianne wasn’t a zombie… maybe. Dawn narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. Marianne flipped a pancake with ease, commenting offhandedly to Bog that she was a decent cook and only set the microwave on fire, proceeding to go into detail on how she stuck a metal cream cheese wrapping in the microwave when she was six to see what it would do. She stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide and face red before stuttering into the phone.

Marianne was not a zombie but ‘Marianne’ was _definitely_ _not_ **_Marianne_**. 

Dawn decided she was not awake enough for this; yet she knew she couldn’t go back to bed because not only would Marianne be on her case, but Boggy would be as well… 

Speaking of Boggy… How was he going to go over the midterm review of Introduction to Management if he hadn’t slept? 

* * *

Perfect, evidently.

Bog looked like he did every other day, only difference was the he was still wearing the same clothes as he had yesterday and had a very noticeable skip to his step -- at least in Dawn’s eye. He was snarling a bit more at some students, disappointment evident on his face as student around her continued to answer wrongly. She couldn't help but be proud that she -- the one who usually had her eyes plastered to her phone screen during Bog’s lectures -- was the one getting, and _understanding_ , more questions than not. Perhaps having a sister who actually knew this stuff and given her own form of tests throughout the weeks had helped. 

She actually felt a bit of pride when she answered one of his questions without much thought and saw the way Boggy seemed to give a smile that only she could see before continuing. By the end of the class, she knew she’d be passing the midterm. She wasn’t even sure if she’d need her sister help with studying.

“Dawn.” Boggy called out to her as students started clearing the room. He was relaxing against his desk, arms crossed and expression blank as Dawn made a U-turn and headed back towards him. She stopped a foot away from his outstretched legs and waited as the rest of the students cleared the room; the only sound was the screeching of the door closing shut. 

“Your sister is helping you.” A statement – he didn’t sound disapproving or disappointed; in fact, a smug, knowing smirk was curling at the edge of his lip. He was _proud_. Whether he was proud of Dawn, her sister, or them both; she didn’t know, nor did she care. There was no negative to those possibilities.

He was proud of her? Good! Yes! She was his student and that meant that he was doing his job right – and she was actually learning, which is shocking to her. She never thought, in her wildest dreams, that she would actually be learning and _retaining_ this information so well. Hell, _she_ was proud of herself. 

He was proud of Marianne? Hell _yes_! She deserved to feel praised. She knows Bog’s classes like the back of her hand, has everything memorized down to a T and (honestly) Dawn’s amazed her sister didn’t become a Professor or teacher instead of owning her own Bar (which was still putting her management skills to good use).

And proud of them both? Absolutely _nothing_ wrong with that statement. 

“I thought it was a good idea to use all available resources.” Dawn said with a bashful smile, ducking her head. “She was, after all, taught by the best Lawyer she’s ever had the pleasure of knowing…”

Dawn wishes she could have taken a picture of his utterly shocked and flustered Bog suddenly looked. Marianne would never believe that the words that had finalized her decision to come to Forester would turn the Professor into a puddle against his desk.

_You know how many Lawyers I’ve met, Dawn-- Practically our entire ‘step in’ family are Lawyers from dad’s firm; and a majority of them have lied to both of our faces… empty promises. But Professor Kingston is legit the first Lawyer that doesn’t lie for the sake of it. He’s up front, he’s blunt and brash, he’s haunting – in a good way – and helps his student. I wouldn’t have graduated if it wasn’t for him. He makes, not only, the class interesting, but your entire time at the University… Listen, I know ‘Uncle’ Vernon said he could get you into Harvard but… it would be really awesome to have you down here. Not only because you’d be here with me, but because you’d **fit in**. Professor Kingston is **the** best Lawyer I’ve ever had to pleasure of learning from… and despite what father and his entire **stupid** firm says, he isn’t the reason I sucked as a Lawyer. I just wasn’t cut out to be one…_

“My sister admires you greatly, Professor. Her opinion of you is the only reason I agreed to come to Forester instead of Harvard…” Dawn took a breath, toying with the hem of her blouse. “I… I don’t know if you remember much of her – and that’s fine, honestly – but you… you _helped_ her when she was in a _really_ bad place, during her fifth semester… I want to thank you for that— even if you don’t—”

“I… remember yer sister, Dawn,” Bog cut his student off with a sigh, standing tall and running a hand through his hair, “I remember Marianne.”

* * *

Bog, thankfully, didn’t have any more classes to teach for the day, nor did he have any students to tutor until tomorrow morning, which left him with silence in his car and Dawn’s advice bouncing in his head.

_“You should tell her,” the younger Fairfield sibling leaned her hip against his desk, “I mean… you don’t have to tell her now, but soon.” Dawn turned, resting her bum against the desk and smiling as she crossed her arms, “I walked out of my room this morning to my sister smiling, cooking and… and **happy**. I haven’t seen her like that in four years, Boggy.”_

_He couldn’t bring himself to comment on the nickname, staring fondly down at his phone and remembering the past night of **Marianne**._

_“Don’t get me wrong,” Dawn bumped her shoulder against his bicep with a giggle, “I actually enjoy this little game you two are playing, but I don’t want anything to go wrong. Every time something good happens to Marianne, something bad follows barely a second later…”_  

 _Bog understood that all too well._  

_“So, just, please don’t wait **too** long, Boggy.” Dawn stood, picking her back up from the ground and smiling fondly up at Bog -- who was still staring down at his phone. Dawn took a step forward, placing her hand over his phone which caused him to pick his head up to stare down at her._

_Her smile never faded, only shined brighter as she spoke, “After seeing you two on Tuesday bickering and **painfully** pining — in front of everyone… only an idiot couldn’t be able to tell that she cares about you – **and** you her… You both deserve to be happy, Professor.” Dawn quickly turned to his desk, grabbing a post-it stack and grabbing one of the pens thrown on the desk to write down her and Marianne’s apartment number and address._

_“Plus,” Dawn spoke after pulling the post-it off its stack and pressing it against Bog’s chest, turning and waved over her shoulder as she headed towards the large double doors, “free drinks.”_

Bog thumbed the post-it between his fingers, worrying his bottom lip as he continued to sit in his car in the deathly silent parking garage. His phone sat in the cup holder connected to his charger. Bog groaned, letting his head fall back against the headrest and running a hand through his hair again. He frowned at the greasy texture of his hair; first things first, he needed to go home and shower.


End file.
